The Glums
by Iwillsingyoulullabys
Summary: 1993. United Kingdom. Jean Valjean has just returned to normal life having been inside for 19 years. Everything he knew has changed. They're all hurtling towards the 21st century and he just cannot get his bearings. Will all these differences in culture leave him unable to adapt and run back to prison? Or will he slowly learn to change his life?
1. I'll fight my corner

**Hello and welcome to my tribute to Les Miserables! The Glums is set in the UK between 1990 and 2011. For those reading who are not familiar with the UK, I plan on using a lot of real-life events that happened in those years to thread throughout the story. **

**Although it is set in the UK, I have stuck with the French names because otherwise it is just way too confusing. There's a fair bit of colloquial language in this story, so if you don't understand any of it just drop an email! **

**Looking forward to hearing from you guys, hope that you enjoy.**

**xx**

Liverpool 1993

He ran. Faster and faster, the youth sped along the corridors trying to outrun his bullies who jeered after him. The authorities did nothing, it was common prison sport.

The lad was only young, just eighteen and in for stealing as a dare from some of his mates. Small and slight with crooked glasses, he was an easy target for anyone who wanted to show off their strength.

As expected by everyone involved, including himself, the other men caught up with him. Grabbing the boy by the collar, the roughest of the lot held him high above the others.

'Yer a little shit,' he sneered. 'Licking the arse of every Bizzie 'ere.'

'I weren't!' The kid struggled in his strong grip. 'Honest! Honest I weren't!'

'Stop blaggin' me head! Yer a fucking gobshite and yer know what happens to little gobshites, don't yer?'

The boy went pale. He did know what happened to little gobshites. He'd seen another man punished like that. He'd seen him be rushed to hospital. He hadn't seen him come back.

'Stop messing with the lad.'

The lone voice was softly spoken, but carried with a tremble of authority.

Some prisoners looked towards the newcomer and immediately backed off, all too aware of his reputation. But the new gang were keen to make a name for themselves.

'Do one. Frank's a little shite.' Another said, overly confident now that he had been taken in by a gang.

'Oh, bugger off, Charlie.' The older man snapped. 'An' I'm not telling you lot again, put the kid down and be on with it.'

Charlie scowled and slunk into the shadows, but Paddy decided to stare him out. It was like a battle of lions; each were fighting over their territory. Paddy's dad had been the Prison King in his day and so now it seemed to be his right, but that stupid Jean just kept on getting in his way at every turn. The men glared at one another until eventually Paddy threw Frank down on the concrete floor.

'He won't always be here for yer.' Paddy spat at him.

Disappointed that a fight hadn't broken out, the group dispersed leaving only Jean and Frank who was nursing a cut lip. Frank didn't recognise his saviour, but he could tell by the reaction of the others that he was important. Jean towered over the others and you could see his rippling muscles underneath his prison uniform, the kind of man who liked like he could kill you just by giving you a hug. His face was ageless; he might have been in his twenties, he might have been in his fifties, the straight sharp angles of his face gave nothing away.

'You alright?'

'Aye.' Frank began dabbing at the wound with his sleeve, only to swear in pain.

'When'd you get here?'

'Why you asking me all these fucking questions?'

'Don't be cheeky you little bugger, I can always call 'em back to finish the job.'

Frank scowled. 'I got here three days ago. An' I hate it. But all me mam says is that if I hadn't wanted to go to prison then I shouldn't have done nothing bad in the first place. Still, I reckon it was a right stitch up. They just wanted to make me an example.'

Jean smirked. The kid was smart.

'Why'd you ask anyhow?'

'Wondered. You're too much of a bairn to be in prison.'

'I'm eighteen.'

'Yeah, a diddyman. You should be out throwing stones rather than in here.'

Frank shrugged defiantly, avoiding the older man's gaze. 'When I come outta here, people will give me respect. They'll look at me and see that I've been inside and so they'll leave me alone. I'll have experience, like.'

Jean laughed. 'How long you here for?'

'Three months.'

'You'll hardly have any experience. Keep your head down and yer nose clean. I mean it, they'll be looking for a chance to smash you. Don't give 'em one.'

Silence ensued as Frank continued to try and fix up his lip; eventually he felt a tap on the shoulder and turned to find Jean holding out a napkin.

'Thanks.'

'Ah fuck off, don't be so wet.'

There were many different gangs in that prison, each jostling to get to the top, but they would never get there. At the top stood Jean Valjean, cool and composed, his dark eyes always on everyone. He didn't grow close to the other prisoners, he'd seen too many come and go to make real friends. His lack of allies meant that newer gangs were always trying to take away his influence, but he was deeply respected by all and therefore staunchly defended without ever having to ask for help. In short, Jean Valjean was the King of his community in prison, so the day Inspector Javert called him to his office was a day of mixed reactions.

'Come in,' the Inspector gave a small smile and gestured him in.

Jean glanced around the room. Meticulously tidy, more so than his predecessors if that were at all possible. He could normally work out someone's character in the first ten seconds, but this Inspector was far more elusive - a blank canvas.

Jean sunk into one of the seats on the other side of the Officer's desk. In some ways he was tempted to sit in the Inspectors chair. Just for a laugh. Just because he'd never been on a wheely chair before. But he held himself back.

Javert began to go through the files, leaving Jean able to study him for quite some time without being detected.

He was younger than most of the prison officers here, in his twenties it seemed, certainly it was surprising that he'd risen so quickly in the ranks despite not having been there very long. While the other Prison Officers would chat to the men and tell them stories of the outside world, turning a blind eye to the sneaking in of mobile phones and cigarettes, Officer Javert was deliberately distant. There were no chats in the office with cups of tea, no inside jokes, he made a point of never speaking about his personal life and focused all his efforts into paperwork. His piercing blue eyes scanned everything, he was a man who looked at all details - you could tell by him appearance. Blonde hair smart and practical, clean shaven, nothing was out of place; and although he wasn't quite as tall as some of the other men, Jean knew that Javert was strong enough to hold down several men at once.

'24597, 24598, 24599,' Javert muttered under his breath as he flicked through a folder, '24600, ah yes, 24601.'

Jean snorted. 'I don't answer to that number.'

Javert raised an eyebrow. 'Clearly you do, I didn't even address you and you identified yourself as it.'

He had a point. Jean sneered. 'Just making sure that you knew.'

'I'll keep a note.'

God, he hated his sarcasm.

'As you have been informed, your sentence is coming to an end soon enough. You'll be released on parole, I trust its meaning has been explained to you?'

Jean rose above the patronizing comments. He knew without having needed to be informed that his sentence was coming to an end soon, he'd counted down the days ever since he had arrived.'

He smiled. 'Free at last.'

'No.' Javert interrupted sternly. 'Just because you'll leave these walls does not mean you can go running around doing whatever you want. You'll have meetings with your Parole Officer to see that you are doing well in your new job, there'll be a curfew, and if you commit a crime - no matter how petty - it's reasonable to assume that you'll be straight back in here.'

Jean scowled. For fucks sake, he didn't need a lecture from some kid. 'All that's been explained to me. Don't worry, I won't go doing anything criminal - I'm not even a criminal.'

'Really? Your charges of theft seem to contradict that?'

Why was that little wanker trying to antagonise him all the time?

'I stole some fucking bread!' Jean shouted, rising from his chair. 'Some fucking bread! You don't know what it was like in the 70's! You were just a fucking kid! There weren't no work! No money! No nothing! An' my sister had seven kids to support! Nineteen years! It was a loaf of bread!'

Javert didn't seem the least bit perturbed by Jean's outburst. Clearly he had been expecting it. Instead, he got out his pen and began to make a little note by his file. Jean felt like he was on fire. All those years of resentment had built up and were shaking him to his very core.

Javert didn't even look at him. 'Please sit down Mr. Valjean.'

He wanted to punch that little shit. But somehow he found the strength to flop back down onto the chair again. When he'd finished making his notes, Javert raised his gaze to meet Jean's.

'On December 5th 1975 you smashed through a window to break into a shop. Vandalism. You then went and grabbed said loaf of bread. Theft. Witnesses expected you to take more, had it not been for the fortunate appearance of a police officer who chased you away. The police officer called for back-up as he chased you and you were eventually cornered by seven police officers. You attacked all of them in your efforts to get away. Assault. Mr. Valjean, you were lucky to only get five years. On May 6th 1977, you used the opportunity of an outing to try and escape. You broke into someone's home to try and hide there. Breaking and entering. You had armed yourself with a weapon by the time the police arrived and attempted to use it-'

'It was a fucking fork.' Had the consequences not been so serious, Jean would have laughed at the idea of one man trying to take on six by means of a fork.

'You hit one officer on the arm.' Javert continued sternly. 'Assault. You were sentenced for six more years as you were now considered to be even more a danger to the public. On February 4th 1985, you and eight other men managed to escape. During that time, the group stole anything they could, assaulted general members of the public and broke into various buildings. You were a part of that group.'

'They might have done that but I-'

Javert held up a finger to silence him. 'It all came to a head when one of the men in your group kidnapped a little boy and attempted to get a ransom for him. To give you your credit, you intervened and called for the police officers to come and rescue the little boy. You therefore received the lesser sentence of seven years.'

A moody silence fell between the two men.

'Thanks for telling me my history.' Jean said sarcastically. 'I didn't know any of that.'

Javert smiled pleasantly. 'I only just read it this morning. It made quite an interesting read. I just wanted to know if there was anything in your file that you thought was missing?'

'It was a fucking loaf of bread.'

'Already been noted.'

'We were starving.'

'Noted.'

'It's not right. I stole something, I'll hold my hands up. But I only stole 'cos I had to. I'd looked everywhere for a job, the government was turning its back on us. An' it was a big shop. A bit of bread gone missing wouldn't a been the end of the world. I've seen the food they throw away when it gets past its sell by date. Loads of it. An' they don't even give it to the food banks. They guard the bins so you can't go jumping in there. It ain't right.'

The pair looked at one another. The brown eyes that had seen too much, and the blue eyes that would not betray what they had seen.

'Noted.'

**Next chapter coming soon: 'Everyone locked up their door 'cos they heard me coming'. Jean Valjean finds that adjusting to normal life again isn't all that easy.**


	2. Everyone locked up their door

**Hello, Jean Valjean is now on parole and trying to adapt to life outside of prison. Now, having never been in prison myself, I wasn't sure how accurate things are and what the correct process for coming out is, so I have just kinda glossed over it. Any questions just gives a shout!**

**Enjoy xx**

* * *

He didn't like his sisters new choice of layabout. Guy was a waste of oxygen as far as he was concerned. He'd never worked a day in his life and didn't have any plans to either. He had as many children as he'd had hot dinners, and seemed not to know how to use the shower.

Guy wasn't Jean's biggest fan either. Until his arrival, Guy had been the big man around town. He was a man with a finger in all pies - if those pies were filled with drugs and other illegal activity, he earned his respect by others as having been 'inside' for fourteen months. When Jean had turned up after serving nineteen years, Guy was surprisingly sick with envy.

Adam, Ethan, Chloe, Morgan, Jade and Paul had all flown the nest and started their own families, while Ruben (who Jean could only remember as a baby) had managed to get into University. It was strange seeing them again. He was used to being cool Uncle Jean who served as a climbing frame, now they were having adult conversation with him, but as Jean had spent his entire adulthood in prison, he wasn't actually sure how to conduct that.

Margaret had continued to add to her brood and in the household remained sixteen year old Aaron, 15 year old Rose with a baby on the way, 12 year old Adele and the five year old twins Jack and Daniel. He couldn't tell the older ones apart let alone the twins and the house was an overcrowded chaos, made even more so by Guy's sulky sixteen year old who would flit her time between her anxious mother and her lazy father.

Jean shared his new room with the five year old twins and half a dozen models of Thomas the Tank Engine. True, his duvet covers flitted between the said train, Scooby Doo and the Smurfs, but it was better than nothing and his nephews cheered him up.

Jean's new job, however, did nothing to improve his mood. Every day from 8:30-7:00 he worked at a local gardening centre pretending to give a crap about plants. His colleagues viewed him with uncertainty as well, preferring to ignore him rather than pretending to be ok with the fact that he used to be in prison.

While his colleagues struggled to survive on £7 an hour, Jean was on minimum wage. He wasn't allowed anywhere near the tills, the managers brushed aside his questions as to when he would be trained on selling the products and he was lumbered with all the crap jobs.

'Well you can't quit', Margaret snapped at her brother as he lamented over the unfairness of it all.

They were in the cramped yellow kitchen at the moment. It was filled with an assortment of charity shop goods and hand me downs, nothing matched and everything was just grubby no matter how many times you cleaned it. Aaron and Adele had already headed off to school, Rose was in her room sulking over her swollen ankles, leaving the adults and the twins sitting at the table. Margaret kept on jumping up to do more chores; getting the boy's dinner money, putting the kettle on, pulling a clean jumper over Jack's head and trying to find the duster.

'An' grow up, a jobs a job.' She continued, out of breath. 'You're doing well for a guy who has just come out'.

'Come outta where?' piped up Jack.

'Holiday.' His mum cut across. 'Your Uncle's been on holiday.'

'Some holiday.' Jean grumbled picking at his toast. Breakfast was always toast. There'd been more variety in prison. He said as much now.

'Don't be a shit.' Guy snarled, banging his fist on the table. He wasn't even dressed yet. He rarely did. It wasn't like you needed to be dressed to spend all day watching TV. ''You're here out of charity. You sit in my house an' eat me food so the least you can do is be fucking grateful.'

'Don't swear infronta the lads.' Jean thundered.

'They're my kids an' I can do what I want! This is my house! An you can shut up!'

Jean laughed unkindly. 'It ain't your house, it's my sisters. All the deeds are in her name.'

Guy looked ready to flip the table over and hit him. He probably would have had it not been for Daniel announcing, 'Mam? Mam me head itches.'

'Danny.' Margaret scolded. 'You better not have lice again.'

While she fussed over him, Jean and Guy continued to glower at each other over the table, each desiring the other start the fight. Jean was stopping himself from throwing the first punch on account of the audience. Guy was stopping himself because deep down he knew that he'd only end up as a bloody pulp.

* * *

'Uncle Jean?' It was Daniel prodding him in the early hours of the morning with shabby pyjamas and tousled hair. With his brother asleep, it was safe for Daniel to have his thumb firmly in his mouth and as such it made it almost impossible for him to be understood.

'What?'

'I'm well chuffed you're here.'

'Thanks, Danny.'

'Are you chuffed?'

Jean couldn't complain. It wasn't the life he'd known before he'd gone into prison, but it was a life outside of prison nonetheless.

'Yeah. Dead chuffed. Did you wake me up just ta ask me that?'

'No, I just wanted to talk.'

'Lad, you've had all day to talk to me. Give yer chin a rest now.'

Daniel still continued to gander, all solemn eyes and the only sounds were of him sucking his thumb. Jean gave up ignoring him.

'What's it yer wanna ask?'

'What's it like in the bin?'

Immediately he looked as if he regretted it. His mam told him and his brother that his Uncle had been on holiday, but Daniel was smarter than his twin and quickly worked out the truth. He'd been coached by his sister to say nought about it but curiosity had gotten the better of him. The elusive Uncle Jean who'd appeared out of nowhere and was confused by things like CD Roms, disposable cameras, mobile phones, the internet and even roller blades. Daniel waited to be shouted at.

'Why'd you ask?'

Daniel couldn't tell what his Uncle was thinking. But at least he hadn't shouted.

'Rose an her friends were talking about the Bulger baby. They were saying about whether or not the kids should go to prison. Some people think that they shouldn't 'cos they're kids but Rose says murder's murder. An' I just 'fought that if people are saying that murderers shouldn't go to prison then if you went ta prison you must have done summin bad - but I don't think you're bad at all. So I wondered if prison really is such a bad place to go? An' I got to thinking about that so when Miss asked us at school where we wanted to be in ten years time, I said in prison 'cos I wanna be like you.'

'What'd she say about that?'

'Miss got cross and told me ta stop being silly.'

'She's right, kid. You don't wanna go inside.'

'Did you do summin' bad then?'

Five year old logic really was strange. Jean sighed and got up to put Daniel on his lap.

'Nah. They were just waiting to get me. Anyfing woulda done.'

'Will they get me?'

'Don't be soft. 'Course they want. Your mam would go mental. An' besides you're gonna keep your head down and your nose clean ain't ya?'

'Honest I will. Mam says you got into drumming which is how it happened. I told that to Miss but she didn't understand. She thought you were in a rock band'

Jean laughed. 'Go back to sleep, kid. You've got school tomorrow.'

Daniel went to clamber off of his Uncle, but suddenly put his little arms round him and engulfed him in a hug.

'What's that for?'

'If I'm not gonna be the one who goes to prison. Could I be the one who something bad happens to? They talk about the Bulger baby in the playground. I don't want anything like that happening to me.'

Bloody hell. Kids knew too much these days. He'd have to have a word with his sister. Or at least the news stations who liked to keep everyone up to date with the gory details.

'I'll go after anyone who even tries to hurt you.' He promised. 'You just call on me, an' I'll be there.'


End file.
